Love Unspoken
by kitsunekaino-mmerryddeath
Summary: A short look at one of Narcissa Malfoy's romances, and the effect that it has on her life. Rated for M for non-graphic femme slash and character death.


Title: Love Unspoken

Disclaimer: MmerryDdeath has been getting up to no good, playing in JK Rowling's sandbox. Although I would quite enjoy owning them, none of the characters belong to me.

This was a Christmas present to KitsuneKaino, which I have only just got around to publishing. Enjoy.

She knew. Had thought she knew anyway. That she wasn't the only one. Didn't care, or rather pretended not to. Besides, ties weren't really her thing; it was easier with no strings, no attachments.

Being the other woman. Better by far than being the wife (although she was one), or in this case the husband. Husbands. It was what she always told herself.

And it had been damn satisfying to have the redhead there, screaming and moaning (because, well, most Gryffindors were screamers when you got right down to it). Hoarsely begging for a release that she could only find here, now, with another woman.

Narcissa liked to tease. Liked to lick her skin, which tasted sweet and salty all at the same time. Liked to curl her hands in her pubic hair (also red, darker). Liked to draw things out as long as she could.

How many other women were there? She had just assumed there were other women, because she had other women.

If they wrapped around each other afterwards, it was because she was tired and Lily was always warm. Because Lily had a softness to her that Lucius, fond as she was of him, did not. Nothing more.

When Narcissa heard they were dead she didn't say anything, didn't cry. Held herself together and attended to her son. Intended to find more lovers, in order to fill the gap (there had been that other redhead in Gryffindor, hadn't there?).

Then the letter arrived. It was simple, plain. _Her_ writing. Narcissa opened it in private.

_Nar_

(and she was the only one who had ever called her that, who called her Nar. Short and clumsy sounding.)

_If you're reading this I am dead, and James is too. I do love him, James I mean. _(Her perfect forehead had crinkled) _But I love you too. Always. I know you had others, I know that's just the way you do things. It's okay._

_I never thought of you as "other". Just Nar. My Nar-not Lady Malfoy or Narcissa or Cissy. Nar. Mine._

_I don't know if you love me. You're so good at hiding things. _(she had regretted it then)_. I hope you care some-I know you never bought into that pureblood bullshit._

_Protect my son. Please. I've done everything, everything I can. I fear Dumbledore is going to do something stupid and I won't have my son's life dictated to him by some bastard who only cares for the greater good. He's my__ son__. _

_If you can't love him, then at least try to make sure he's with someone good. Someone who'll care for him. For me, Nar._

_I can't offer you anything in return-you know we Gryffindors are no good at deals._

_My Love_

_Always_

_Lily_

Her hands had trembled, there in the immaculate drawing room. She had sat, heavily, remembering every touch and kiss. Every hissed word and impassioned argument. The way Lily's eyes had burnt the first time Narcissa ripped off her shirt.

She felt a hole open inside her, gaping. Love unspoken. Narcissa sat a long time.

Then she had stood, regal. Made some floo calls. Spoken to her husband in soft, convincing tones. Pulled strings.

Two weeks later, the raven haired infant moved into their home. Lucius did not ask why his wife loved Harry as much as she loved Draco. Perhaps he knew. Besides, the child was a delight and it was good for their son to have company.

Narcissa found other lovers. Beautiful women, ugly women. Some of them even made her smile. There was a letter that she kept on her, always.

Lucius understood, and said nothing because that was how they had always functioned. He grew to love both their boys. Narcissa was proud of the pair of them, enjoyed the challenges they brought and loved them almost more than she could bear. Even if she did have to have Harry's coarse Godfather in her life.

And the pain melted away in tiny pieces, year by year. Until one day she woke up in large, handsome arms, was greeted in husky French by the enormous woman in her bed, and realised that loving Lily was something she could do while loving someone else as well.

Olympe did not leave the bed for several days, and neither did Narcissa. The blonde mused, as she relaxed against the skin of her lover, that if this was going to be long term, she would need some reinforcing charms on her bed. And she smiled, relishing whatever might come next.


End file.
